Batman and the Sorceror's Stone
by Oirams
Summary: If Harry Potter was Batman. it's a good old fashioned sherlock holmes mystery thingie. i just picked the stone because i needed a name for a jewel.


Batman and Case of the Sorceror's Stone   
  
  
  
1974  
  
Knockturn Alley.   
  
Two Aurors stood over the crime scene, scratching their heads.  
  
"What do you think,sir?" said the younger one.  
  
  
  
"I think that this is gonna be too much paperwork is what I think."   
  
The short man's eyes darted quickly over to the side, spying out a small boy standing strangely amidst the forensics and flashing lights.  
  
"Get the boy out of here! The hell's wrong with you guys."  
  
The younger Auror hurried to obey his lieutenant's orders. " Sorry, sir. They found him here at the scene so we thought it was better to keep him aside..."  
  
The boy was 10 years old, had a mop of brown hair, and was covered from his shoe to kneestockings with blood.  
  
"Geeze Louise." The lieutenant sighed and then yelled. "Someone get child services."   
  
Another kid who would never see his parents again, he thought. Be an Auror, they said. See the world, they said. What a load of shit.  
  
"What's your name, son?" he asked kindly.  
  
The boy's large brown eyes raised his head. He was blank. He remembered that he had wanted to stop by the ice cream shop in Diagon Alley, and his parents had obliged him...  
  
"What's your name son?"   
  
The boy began to mouth his name but he only remembered the wands flashing and the unbelievable amount of blood that had poured from his mother's head...  
  
"My name...is....I'm..."  
  
Just then a bat flying across the light of the moon cast a deep shadow over his face. The boy paused momentary to look at the wonder before saying, "Potter. Harry Potter."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
1984  
  
Platform 9 3/4  
  
  
  
  
  
The train whistled to a stop and a young man stepped out to the platform below him. He waved goodbye to his friends, hefting his luggage from the valet to his own shoulders.   
  
"Mr. Potter!" cried a tall thin-mustached older man, who was running rapidly toward him. " Let me get your bags.   
  
"That's okay, Alfred," replied Potter. "And I've told you. Call me Harry."  
  
  
  
All around Platform Nine-and-Three Quarters, students, travelers and luggag-handlers made busy. Harry breathed sharply the air; He took in the fact that he was leaving his childhood behind. He was a man now, out to make his fortune.   
  
"Ahh," he breathed out.  
  
"Yes, sir?" asked Alfred concernedly, opening up the door of a Bentley.  
  
Harry shook his head. " Nothing, Alfred. " He dipped his hair down, the dark locks brushing over his eyes. " I was just feeling a little nostalgic is all."  
  
Alfred climbed into the driver's seat. " That's nothing to be ashamed of, young master. You did spend most of your childhood at Hogwart's. In fact, I think you're handling the emotional experience rather well. I remember, back in my day when I left the school for the last time, I was bawdlin' like a baby..."  
  
Harry had already drowned Alfred's chatter aside. The summer winds had already gone, and the heat was unbearable. Harry was not sure he wanted to follow Alfred into the car.   
  
Alfred smiled at Harry benignly. The servant took out his wand and spoke, "Aquaaqueousaerious!', and a huge block of ice appeared, complete with its own water collection tray. Harry smiled and entered gratefully into the, now somewhat cooler, car.  
  
But when Harry entered, his demeanor, body language, and voice began to change. Darker. More forceful. Less tolerant.  
  
"Alfred, did you follow the instructions I owled you?"  
  
"Yes. Although, why in the world you would need so many Muggle items-"  
  
"Alfred."  
  
"Yes, young master."  
  
"Don't ever question me again."  
  
"Yes, sir," replied Alfred quickly. He had long ago learned to accept the polarity of Harry's personality.  
  
"Good. Now, drive me to Chaucer's Park. Drive quickly. I do not want to keep Miss Granger waiting."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Harry hoped that Hermione would forgive him. It was not that Harry did not like the Granger girl-He did. He simply did not have time for her. Or for anyone.  
  
  
  
Chaucer Park  
  
6:00 PM  
  
The Granger girl had cried.  
  
"You bastard. Tell me why? Was it me? Did I do something-"  
  
"No. no," smiled Harry. "I just think that we've got our whole young lives ahead of us. There's no need for me to tie YOU down. Come on. It's not like it's a big deal or anything." Harry took out his checkbook. "If you want reimbursement, I'll be more than happy to-"  
  
I deserved that slap, he thought, rubbing his jaw gently. He saw her run off, and for a moment, wondered if he should run after her...She had left behind her scarf, which Harry faintly remembered having bought for her during their second anniversary. The name Hermione was etched in gold over the red cashmere fabric. Harry sighed, and placed it slowly into his pocket.  
  
He did not know how long he stood there. I should prepare for tonight, he thought, but was yet unable to move. He took another look at his watch. 6 P.M., it read.  
  
Six more hours. Six more hours until I begin. Harry took out Hermione's scarf, looked at it oddly, as if he were deciding something important. Just then, a strong winter wind blew the scarf away. The wind was quick but Harry was sure he could grab it before it went out of his reach. But he hesitated, and the scarf was gone, landing into Chaucer's pond, then dipping quietly in and out of the running water until even Harry's sharp eyes could not follow.  
  
"So that's decided then."  
  
He walked quietly away.  
  
--------------------------------------End of first part----------------------------------------  
  
GOTHAM TIMES  
  
"The dubious honor of Crime Capitol goes to us once again. The mayor, the honorable, Mr. Cornelius Fudge, says that he understands and that his first priority is, in fact, to cut crimes in all sectors."  
  
The newspaper had a picture of Mr. Fudge's face and it began to speak, pushing away the people next to him so that he would have the best spot on the page.  
  
'I and my new Commisioner will cut crime across all sectors. It's not an empty promise. My advisors and I have proposed a bold new curfew plan which I believe will be effective in quelling crime in more urban-"  
  
Alfred almost choked on his tea. "Oh come on. Election talk? You'll be lucky if you don't get impeached, the way, you're going!"   
  
The newspaper cleared its voice and began once more, only slightly irritated at being interrupted. 


End file.
